A Loss of Innonence (First Times Collection)
by infiniteworld8
Summary: Kirk, Gaila, McCoy all remember the first time they killed. In some cases it was revenge, others self-defense, a promise that had to be kept or something that was long deserved. In each case the memory lingers and the events surrounding what happened are defining. Series of One-Shots
1. The Price of Free Will (Gaila)

The Price of Free Will (Gaila)

_This one shot is a small snippet from what I imagine Gaila's life pre-federation to be like. No sunshine and roses for the green girl, but a lot of difficult choices and an uncertain future... May be a trigger for some people...you have been warned._

_The first time Gaila kills it's the only choice, left. For the first time in her life she disobeys, for the first time she forges her a path toward her own destiny._  
_And in that moment she finds the price of will._

* * *

His body shuddered against hers, and his stale breath was hot in her ears. His arms were pinning her down and she could scarcely move as his weight held her body in place. Desperate panting sounds issued from his mouth. His nails scratched her body gouging deeply, He trembled violently and then he stilled. They both did. Gaila stared up into his yellow eyes, he leered at her. His red face was even ruddier and his grey hair hung limply in his sweaty face.

He leaned down and bit her neck, she gasped as he pulled away, his mouth bloody. He smiled kissing her. She tasted her own blood in his mouth, it made her stomach churn at the coppery taste and his own salty saliva. Her body was slick with blood from the cuts, and scratches he had given her. Her pain was tied in with his pleasure and it was her job as a _lodubyaln _to satisfy his desire, even at expense of her own self. Her master demanded it as he did of the other girls in his control. She tried not to cry out as he pulled out a knife and carefully almost sensuously carved a line down the middle of her abdomen.

This was what he had paid for. His species was particularly violent and sadistic. Mating for them was equal parts pain and pleasure and they reviled in both aspects. Gaila had been bought for this; he had paid almost twenty times what was normal with the promise for more to fulfill his desire. It was a ritual common to his race that had a great similarity to the Terran species of black widow spider, the only difference was after the mating the female was the one to die.

Her _Lodubyal Ot_ or house-mistress had been very clear about what she was to do. She thought she was stupid, but Gaila had made it her business to know her customers and so when Vina had tried to drug her to make her more compliant she had swallowed the concoction only to throw it up as soon as she could. Even now she could feel the drug in her system, dulling her senses but it was less so than it should had been. She was still in possession of her faculties enough to see that the end was nearing, after hours in the man's company she was weakening and he was reaching his own peak.

Gaila wasn't sure what had led her to this moment. Maybe it was her rebellious pursuit of learning, or her questions that often earned her slap, maybe even her exotic appearance of atypical red hair paired with the green skin that some customers found appealing but led others to turn her down in favor of someone more traditional. But whatever it was had led Vina to decide that out of all the girls she was most expendable.

In all her fourteen years she had never imagined that this would be the end of her. Dying at another's hand's and both Vina and the customer expecting to be unwitting and unfighting, was the farthest from how she expected to go. Duty to the house and master had been beat into her, but if it meant her death she couldn't follow what had always been her guiding imperative. Other girls would have gone along with what they were ordered to do even without the use of drugs , they were that obedient, they were that jaded. But while her body may not have been her own, her mind was.

She had no allusions that if she followed through with what she was planning then she would face severe punishment perhaps even death. But she would rather die on her feet after defending herself, then like a willing participant to her own murder.

The man, she refused to acknowledge his name, rubbed his hands in her blood. Her brushed her cheeks ; his fingers wet with her blood as he caressed the cuts he had made. Gaila's head was spinning with pain, intoxication, and exhaustion but she found enough energy to reach for the knife she always had on her hidden, even if she was nude. As he reached for her neck she didn't try to break his grip, she hadn't attained her full strength yet, she was too young and even so his race was slightly stronger than Orions. She felt her airway begin to close as he crushed her throat in his hands. She struggled as she knew he would expect it, but her fingers scrabbled desperately for her blade. As her fingers reached the cold metal she pulled it up, lighting fast and even though her vision was dim now she plunged it upward into where she knew his heart beat above her. He gave a grunt of surprise and slowly his fingers loosened. His body collapsed onto of her. His blood gushed out of the wound covering her in hot slickness.

She pushed him off with difficulty and reached for her clothes. Once she had dressed in her skimpy dress , she glanced back at the dead man lying behind her. His body had flipped over as she had pushed him off. He was staring sightlessly ahead. She retrieved her knife from his chest, and stowed it away for next time. Because she knew there would be a next time…there always was a customer who was to violent or refused to pay but still wanted her. That was the life of a _lodubyaln. _ That was the life of a person who was nothing more than property to be used, wasted ,and abused.

Her entire body ached, but there was no comfort to be given. Eventually Vina would come expecting to collect her body and the payment and instead find the customer dead. Tears trickled down Gaila's face, blood dripped off her body…she trembled as she imagined what would happen now.

But she had done what was necessary…for once in her life she had fully and utterly chose her own destiny.

The price of free-will was paid in blood.

* * *

_A little background: Orions are known for their having a form of sexual slavery with the women in which girls from the age of five are trained to basically serve as prostitutes. At age fourteen they typically begin working steadily. I got to thinking about Gaila and what her life was like before Starfleet and this one-shot was the result. I'm planning on doing a story about her because she's a great character who didn't get enough screen time. I prefer to think she didn't die, but she probably did._

_This story also was the product of considering all the people out there who are involved in sex trafficking and other forms of bondage. Thanks for reading._


	2. A Loss of Innocence (Kirk)

A Loss Of Innocence (Kirk)

_"he was made to sacrifice himself. Like a grenade waiting for the right moment to explode... " It's not revenge, it doesn't feel like revenge...that's the farthest thing from his mind. And after all the other things he's done to survive, it shouldn't be so bad...Kodos and Tarsus IV have already taken so much from him and finally they take the last of his innocence._

* * *

The first time he actually does it, he doesn't feel anything or at least that's what he'd like to tell himself. But he feels so much he wants to just end it all, only when he's got so many people relying on him that isn't an option. He's filled to the brim with , anger, hate grief, sadness, and all are at war with each other inside of him and all he knows is that this has to be done.

The man kneeling in front of him is only a few years older than him chronologically. But that isn't what counts because as Kirk stands over him both of them trembling, he can feel the years tugging at his own soul.

It's in every memory in his thirteen year old mind of a twisted body that had once been a friend or his family that he was forced to see because there was nobody else to bury them or check if their pulse had ceased. It's in the screams that he will never, no matter what he does, be able to purge from his mind. It's in the memory of how it feels to have flesh yield to your blade as it plunges into a chest or abdomen. It's in the smell of blood—thick, coppery and cloying, or the scorched aroma of burning bodies. It's in the taste of salty tears on a parched tongue and blood coating a mouth that was bitten from fear. It's from living a few months turned into what might as well be a lifetime in hell that had once been a paradise.

The man begs, he pleads with every fiber of his being. The terror is clear in his eyes but Kirk can't bring himself to care. Because who was there when he cried and begged. Who offered him mercy? Was it Frank who gave him broken ribs like presents or bruises like he was offering affection? Was it a mother who hated him from being like his father and yet not enough like him? Was it the brother who had left him to fend for himself and assured him he would be okay? Or was it the father who had died to save him but might as well have let him die because the outcome would be the same only a few years delayed?

The answer wasn't clear and it didn't matter. Forgiveness, mercy, happiness, childhood all those were gone….something that should have been but never really was. Frank had tried to beat it from him; His mother had tried to starve it from him with her lack of affection. But it had been taken from him instead by every death he was forced to be unable to prevent every failure stole all that he had left.

And all that was left was the desperate need to survive and the desperate want to die…

Death and survival…they were inexplicably linked with no end in sight. Every waking moment was torture and necessary, because if he gave up then he would have failed even more and that was unthinkable. He didn't believe in no-win scenarios— he couldn't.

What people didn't understand was that the no-win scenario wasn't about him always winning; it was about him always accomplishing the goal of defying death. His own life wasn't what he cared about; it was about thwarting death's reaching grasp for the others. He would count each and every time he accomplished his goal where somebody else lived—no matter the cost to himself as a win. Because in the end it wasn't about him…he wasn't worth life…he was made to sacrifice himself. Like a grenade waiting for the right moment to explode…and everyday he was inching towards that final explosion. He welcomed it.

The disruptor trembled in Kirk's hand and he reached out to steady it with the other. He stared the other man in the eyes. Some people thought that would weaken a person's resolve. But it strengthened his. In those eyes he saw the bright eyes of his friend. In the blood leaking down the side of the man's face he saw her red hair. In the soldiers rumpled clothes he saw her muddy torn trousers, and ripped up baseball cap.

The solider hadn't only killed her. He had taken her innocence first. Kirk would never be able to forget how he had found her. The strangle marks on her neck were still clearly identifiable, but so was the way her clothes were mostly missing and how her body had been carelessly cast aside once it had served its purpose. As the man opened his mouth to beg again, Kirk fired.

The bolt lanced through the man's head. The eyes widened slightly and a fine red mist bloomed from the back. A blackened crater marred the middle of his head. It was big enough to fit a baseball in . Kirk imagined what she would have thought of that…she had liked almost every sport. The body toppled back and Kirk didn't care as he felt the vibration travel across the ground. Instead of watching the body leaking blood across the ground he stared off into the distance. The disruptor hung limply in the grasp.

The body twitched and Kirk tracked his eyes back to the dead solider. The uniform he wore was now stained with gore…the patch that showed he was a part of Kodos troops was soaked in blood. Kirk stared at the slowly stilling corpse and watched. He didn't feel satisfaction. He didn't feel like he had got revenge. There were some things that nothing could ever make right. Revenge was just an allusion that people wanted to believe. Death didn't make another death any better.

Instead he had done what needed to be done so somebody else didn't have to. He had lost, the innocence he had was gone. He didn't even feel it leave, it had almost been worn down to nothing. Some would have called what he had done a no-win, but that didn't apply because by bringing a death he was also defying the man calling for all the rest of theirs. By taking the life of another he was saving others.

It wasn't the best trade…but it was the best option…and it was his job.

To protect his crew, he would do anything…even give up all that made him what he was.


	3. To Hold a Life (McCoy)

_Title: __To Hold a Life_

_Summary: __It's not really his first time, there's been other's patient's he just wasn't fast enough, or smart enough to save. Sometimes there was just nothing else he could do. But the first time he intentionally kills...it's not from anger or hatred...instead it's an act of mercy. Only why does it leave him with such lingering guilt...why does it rip apart his very soul._

* * *

**McCoy**

He had done it several times. Once he was caught up in the heat of the moment and made a mistake. Sometimes he just didn't know what else to do. Sometimes it was a second to slow or too fast…small errors that humans make. But the first time he did it intentionally it was different. It was indescribable. To hold life and death in one's hand makes a person feel like God and…the devil.

It was a dim hospital room. Rain was spattering outside; the night sky was illuminated intermittently by lighting. And a storm was brewing inside a soul. It was a maelstrom of anger, duty, sadness, grief, desperation and a promise that begged to be kept.

He forced himself to walk past the nurse exiting the room without speaking. He ached with the effort of holding himself still and moving forward. He desperately wanted to stop….he wanted to fall to his knees and beg someone. anyone to stop him. Instead he continued unhampered.

He arrived at the bedside and saw the wasted body with sunken eyes that stared out almost vacantly at him. He said something maybe an explanation of what he was about to do or an apology. The eyes seemed to stare at him with understanding; maybe the almost-corpse even spoke. But the words were unimportant, all that was left was action.

The hypo was in his pocket. He slowly pulled it out and prepared it with trembling fingers. The same hands which had held Joanna, caressed his wife, saved lives, would now be the bringers of death.

As he raised it and began the short journey to the waiting side of his father's neck he thought of anything else but what he was doing. He imagined the action time for each medication in the cocktail he had mixed. He stared at the colours swirling around in the transparent cartridge. He smelled the faint chemical odour of the medicines—now poisons he had created. He felt the cold cylinder of the hypo as he held it in his hands. He tasted a sour taste in his mouth as he imagined what the after effects of the drugs would be.

He finally made the end of the journey. The hypo was firmly placed against the neck. He barely felt the discharge as the medications hissed into the tissues and veins. He heard the almost silently whispered thanks, glide from his father lips like a dying breath. The hypo dropped from his hands and McCoy reached for his father hand and held the papery weak grasp in his own. He watched as the eyes widened as they met his. He listened as the breath thinned and stopped. He saw the body spasm as it gave a death throe. McCoy listened as the staff rushed into the room when they noticed what had happened. He had just enough time to stow the hypo back in his pocket.

He didn't do so to avoid punishment, he wanted somebody to find out what had happened. He wanted to get the punishment he felt he deserved. He wanted absolution for the sin he had just committed, but he couldn't get it. He had responsibilities, a wife to be with, a little daughter, a mother to comfort from the loss of her mate, a sister to console who had lost a father. He had responsibilities and he couldn't negate them.

He held his father hands and watched the now still face and blankly staring eyes. He continued holding the hand as tears coursed down his cheeks. He had done his responsibility; he had done what was asked of him and he had paid the price.

The price was one dead father.

Two weeping women, a mother and a sister.

And a slow spiral into work , mind-numbing alcohol, and an inevitable divorce.

He lost everything but his bones…because he had a responsibility and he had done his duty.

He paid with the taking of another life with his own and guilt that was all encompassing.

* * *

_This was set when McCoy is in his late twenties. I imagined he got divorced awhile after. I think the guilt of what he did knocked him off the rails. For any that don't know this is canon, at least TOS canon. McCoy is known to have killed his father, at his father's request because he was suffering from a terminal illness. McCoy didn't want to do it but when he did a short while later the cure for the disease is found that would have allowed his father to completely recover. Now if that's not guilt-inducing I don't know what is._

_Also while we're at it...if you're still reading. This is in relation to the complex issues involving terminal diseases and assisted ._


End file.
